Waiting for Dawn
by honalooloo
Summary: ONE-SHOT. Set after Series 4 of CBBC's Young Dracula. Another apartment. Another view of the Seine. Another twenty-something girl observing the hustle and bustle of a glittering city from behind panes of glass. For Erin, it's just another night in Paris... Erin/Malik


_DISCLAIMER: I own none of the Young Dracula characters or locations etc. The only thing I own is the plot of the story._

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: My goodness, this has been a long time in coming! It was inspired by a line in redrachxo's 'Twisted' (which I urge you all to check out, by the way), and whilst my one-shot cannot hope to compare to such awesomeness, I hope you enjoy it all the same. A slight warning before we start, however- this is perhaps not for the more avid Vlerin fans among us. It also explores some rather adult themes and though there is nothing explicit, I felt I ought to warn you. But for those of you that do choose to read on, thank you and enjoy!_

* * *

Vlad had been right: Paris really was beautiful at this time of year. Erin sometimes found herself staring out of the bay windows for hours, transfixed by the busy skyline, the velvety night illuminated by hundreds of thousands of brightly-coloured lights. The Eiffel Tower, a fierce, steel structure by day, was a glowing beacon by night. The relentless hum of the traffic, the constant whirring of machinery, the shouts and the screams and the laughter of the people down below all mingled into one great wave of noise and vitality that rolled up to the apartment and broke on the balcony. Erin longed to go down there, to mingle with the Parisians and absorb the culture, the excitement, soak up the atmosphere so fragrant with possibilities that one could almost taste it quivering in the air.

But she was stuck. Stuck in one of the most electrifying cities in the world with nothing to do, no-one to talk to, and nowhere to go. And all because of Malik.

Malik. The name tasted bitter on her tongue. He was the one who called the shots, there was no use pretending otherwise- his word was gospel as far as Erin was concerned. She wasn't a breather girl now, he'd said, the first time he'd locked her in the apartment; she was a vampire, and that meant she answered to him. There would be none of this feminist, anti-patriarchy rubbish that Ingrid had filled her head with- she was _his_ girlfriend, and that meant that she would do as she was told.

It was a good job that Malik hadn't yet trained her to use her powers else she would probably have dusted him there and then. The part of her that was still human had been incoherent with outrage at such a medieval attitude, but what else could she expect? Hadn't this been exactly what had infuriated Ingrid, what had sparked her obsession with bringing Vlad to his knees?

Vlad. Merely thinking that name would usually cause a nearby lamp or window to shatter as rage surged through her like static. Her hatred for him hadn't ceased; quite the opposite, it had only intensified as Malik's treatment of her grew worse by the day. When they had first arrived in Paris the couple had been drunk with anticipation, looking forward to wreaking havoc amongst the tourists and terrifying the locals. And they had done all that, and it had been fun, for a time. But Malik was ambitious; he hadn't been content to remain a feral forever, and after living in clean, warm, ventilated housing for the past seventeen years Erin had made it quite plain that becoming a street-fang was not on her agenda.

So they had settled down. Malik had gotten a job as a clerk at a local factory, and Erin had worked as an assistant at a nearby photographer's. They'd been able to scrape together enough money to rent a little flat downtown, and for the first time since being bitten, Erin had been able to envisage her future as a vampire. It wasn't the life she'd wanted, but she had fun with Malik- and fun was what she craved after seventeen stagnant years of putting herself second and everyone else's problems first.

Erin could pin-point the exact day when the first crack in their relationship had appeared. Malik had bounded in through the front door, dishevelled and smelling strongly of beer, informing her at the top of his voice that he'd received a promotion at work: more money, more responsibility, and more control. The factory manager, apparently, had noticed the insanely long hours that Malik put in, appreciated his dedication to his job that meant he clocked in long before sunrise and didn't pack up until after sunset. Erin had been pleased for him, of course, especially because it had made him forget about Vlad for nearly a fortnight- but the authority Malik exercised at work had begun to spill over into his home life. As promotion after promotion followed, including a particularly hefty pay-rise after Malik had proved to be the only one in the office prepared to sack inadequate workers, his belief in his own superiority increased. The alarm bells had started to ring when he had decided that they were going to move house without consulting Erin first; the next step had been to force her to give up her job at the photographer's; the latest and most severe when he had forbidden her to leave the apartment without his permission. After pointedly disregarding these rules several times, Malik had ended up locking her in the house all day: "So I always know where you are," he had told her firmly.

And there was nothing to _do_. It was so terribly dull, being shut up in a two-bedroomed flat all day. She supposed Malik expected her to cook and clean like a good little housewife, ready to take his shoes off and make him a hot mug of Type O when he got in, but if she'd wanted that life she would have stayed with the Draculas and married Vlad. She hadn't moved to a foreign country with the illegitimate son of a count to be a live-in cleaning lady.

Erin knew she ought to be counting her blessings that Vlad's love had neutralised the loyalty in the bite. If she'd had to have been loyal to _him_, to be his mindless slave, to follow him around like a desperate little puppy she'd have gone to stand in the sunlight without a second's hesitation. The worst of it was that she'd actually thought he was going to let her die. The sentimental part of her had almost forgotten that he was a vampire, and had actually believed that he'd respect her final wish. But he'd proved himself to be just like any other vampire: _he'd taken what he'd wanted_. Who cared what anyone else thought, who cared that other people's happiness was at stake as well as his own- so long as Vlad had claimed his prize then there was no more to be said. As soon as Vlad had bitten her she'd lost her identity. She was no longer Erin Noble; she'd become _Vlad's_ half-fang, _Vlad's_ First Bite, _Vlad's_ property. And after all the trouble he'd taken to turn her he'd been prepared to sacrifice her to the slayers… well, that had been the final nail in the coffin. Any hope of reconciliation, of a parting on civil terms, had been lost after that.

Malik never stopped thinking about his final day at Garside. When he thought Erin wasn't watching him she could see his eyes darken and his jaw-bone twitch as he remembered how close his half-siblings had come to killing him. How they had condemned his mother to an eternity of agony within the Blood Mirror. And what had begun as a frivolous, daring, laissez-faire relationship quickly soured. It became toxic. Malik was unbearably paranoid about who Erin preferred; having to constantly reassure him that Vlad meant nothing to her was becoming exhausting.

The scraping of a key in the lock caused Erin to tear herself away from the window, glancing quickly at the clock on the wall: 11pm. Even by Malik's standards this was late. As he stumbled across the threshold, slamming the door behind him and bolting it, Erin could smell the alcohol on him. It really wasn't good for him- vampire bodies weren't designed to cope with that breather poison. Their livers didn't work in quite the same way. She forced a smile onto her face as Malik kicked his work shoes off and flung his suit jacket onto the sofa. Moving over to loosen his tie, her nose wrinkled as she picked up the stench of vodka.

"Good day?" she asked brightly, undoing his top button and smoothing down the starched collar of his shirt. "Must have been busy- you didn't phone." He had taken to ringing the flat at random times during the day to check that she hadn't gone out.

Malik ignored her. He pushed her hands away, moving over to the fridge and pulling out a bottle of B Positive. He uncorked it and drank it straight from the bottle, a few droplets dripping down onto his white shirt. Erin supressed a sigh; that was another shirt he'd ruined. Blood was impossible to get out of white fabric, and Malik insisted on looking nothing less than perfect for work. It didn't give off the right aura if one's attire was stained with bodily fluids, apparently.

He slammed the now-empty bottle down on the work surface, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Still not looking at Erin, he staggered into the master bedroom. Picking up his briefcase from where he'd dropped it by the door, Erin followed him.

He was already unbuttoning his shirt. His tie lay discarded on the floor at the foot of the coffin. When Erin hovered uncertainly in the doorway, he glared at her.

"Hurry up," he snapped, "I've got a ton of paperwork to finish this evening."

Erin resisted the urge to point out that in fact it was very nearly morning in favour of stepping, rather hesitantly, into the room. The door immediately swung shut behind her as Malik clicked his fingers. The ruined shirt had been flung onto the floor next to the tie; he was currently undoing the belt on his trousers.

"Don't you- don't you want a shower first?" she asked, her voice higher and squeakier than usual. Malik looked at her as though she were stupid.

"No, I don't want a shower," he snarled, "You know what I want. I've had a long day at work so the least you can do is not play games with me when I get home."

Erin didn't know why she was arguing with him. Malik was right, she _did_ know what he wanted; but she would hate herself slightly less afterwards if she put up a fight. "I don't really want to," she told him, her voice shaking slightly in apprehension. "I'm a bit tired. It's late."

Malik shot her a look of pure poison. "Oh. Ok, I get it. I slave away all day at work for what, sixteen hours, while you're sat at home doing nothing, and the one thing I want from you when I get in you won't give to me because _you're a bit tired_?"

"I just-"

"It's me who's put this roof over your head, it's me who looked after you when the Draculas turned us out, it's me who brings home the money that keeps us afloat and yet you _still_ can't give me the one, the only thing I ever ask of you!"

"Malik, please, we've been over this before-"

"Is it because you're still in love with Vlad?" he demanded, and his voice was suddenly quiet, dangerous. "Is it because he was a better at it than I am?"

"Malik! You're my only- Vlad and I never, you know that- I'd never before you-"

"Because you're mine now, do you hear me? Whatever you did with Vlad is null and void. This is _my_ house and you're _my_ girlfriend and when I ask you to do something you do it, do you understand?"

Erin nodded mutely. She'd lost count of the amount of times they'd had this argument. Slowly, hands shaking slightly, she reached back to unzip her black dress. Malik didn't like it when she wore breather clothes; she had to wear dark leather all the time. The one time she'd put her jeans on to do the dusting he'd come home early from work and all hell had broken loose. The marks hadn't faded for at least a fortnight.

Erin peeled off her tights. She avoided looking at Malik; she knew he wouldn't be looking at her. Her hand fluttered up to her neck to check that the bite marks were still covered with a thick layer of foundation- it would only incite Malik's anger further if he saw them. He'd jump to all sorts of horrid conclusions and the neighbours were beginning to complain about all the late-night shouting. The pair continued to undress in silence, before Erin- glad, not for the first time, that she was incapable of blushing- perched awkwardly on the edge of the coffin.

"I don't want any fuss tonight, Erin. I've got a lot to be getting on with before the presentation tomorrow morning. If we pull it off they could make me deputy-manager."

"That's brilliant," Erin said flatly. A promotion wouldn't make Malik any softer; he'd most probably get worse because of the extra pressure he would be put under.

"Erin? Did you hear me? I don't want any fuss."

Oh. _That_ kind of fuss. The fuss that made it vaguely enjoyable for Erin as well as for Malik. She hadn't experienced that kind of fuss since he'd received his last promotion. Shuffling back until she was lying flat-out in the coffin, allowing her wrists to be pinned to the base by cold, unyielding hands, she let her eyes fall shut. She took a deep, no longer necessary breath- and surrendered to the inevitable.

* * *

The afterwards would always be the worst. Erin had by now grown used to what was invariably a one-sided struggle, but she would often be sickeningly sore when it was over. When she resisted him, he got angry, and when he got angry, he got rough. Too rough. She was only small, and there were times when it hurt so much that she felt as though he were ripping her apart from the inside. She knew that if she just let him do whatever he wanted, that if she simply allowed him to use her body however he desired then there would be less pain. He might even be kind to her. He might even try to make it nice for _her_ too.

But she couldn't do it. She'd tried it before, and he'd been pleased with her for a few days (which had truly been wonderful), but the self-loathing would burn inside of her as she recalled her own shameful submission. Maybe she'd have been able to accept such treatment if she'd been born a vampire- she'd have been brought up 'knowing her place', after all- but the breather part of her screamed at her that what Malik was doing was wrong. But what did it matter? For all of Vlad's talk about implementing gender equality he was hardly a well-known champion of women's rights. Nothing was going to change. So Erin could either leave Malik, without money, a completed education or a place to go; or she could stay with him, and live in this warm, comfortable apartment with a good income and a steady supply of blood from the French connoisseurs. Malik had said it himself: not only was she a female, but a female half-fang. The bottom of the social heap. Only one rung higher than breathers; only two above slayers.

And it was all down to Vlad. If he'd just listened to her and let her die then she wouldn't be here right now. She'd be six feet under, resting peacefully, unable to be touched by anyone who wanted to hurt her or taunt her or use her to feed their under-stroked ego.

There was nowhere left to go. This pitiful existence was it for her, really. And so all she could do was wait for the dawn to break, when Malik would have left her asleep in the coffin, and sixteen empty hours of loneliness stretched ahead of her.

She had an eternity of this.

Thanks, Vlad.

_FIN_

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: Any feedback is much appreciated and greatly valued. Also, if you enjoyed this then please check out my other fics. Thank you!_


End file.
